


I'm Not You, And You Aren't Me

by K_G



Series: Tight Pants & Maximum Angst 'Verse [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Android!Hal, Confession, Implied Roxy|Hal pale relationship, M/M, Post-Game, TP&MA!Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 20:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4492761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_G/pseuds/K_G
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hal's attempt to help Dirk not run himself into the ground results in a confusing conversation. Hal looks to Roxy for aid. Following her advice leads to an impromptu confession. Takes place way before Remember To Say Please And Thank You.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“You have been awake for twenty nine and a half hours. That's kind of unhealthy, dude.”

Dirk barely acknowledges the android's presence in the room, shoulders tightly hunched. His fingers are moving in slow, lethargic motions across his keyboard, and the only sign that he heard Hal speak at all comes in a brief pause before he hits the return key with unnecessary force.

Hal shifts his weight, leans against the darkly shadowed wall of the living room. He waits.

He's good at waiting. He had more than enough time to practice.

 

It takes fourteen minutes before Dirk's fingers still. He flattens his palms on the keyboard, and his back shudders in a sigh that even Hal almost couldn't hear.

“You're going to do this every time, huh.”

Hal doesn't bother to answer. Dirk will take the silence as an answer in itself, and sure enough, he turns his swivel chair to look his way.

“I can look after myself.” He stretches, and his spine pops several times in quick succession. His lips compress in clear disapproval of this betrayal.

“You can.” Hal shrugs one shoulder. “I am not calling that into question, despite there being a compelling brody of evidence from which to make my case.”

“Yeah, okay. What the fuck do you want, then?” Weariness saps a lot of the hostility from Dirk's voice, and Hal pushes away from the wall. It's eerie, seeing the android's paper-white face lit by his eyes and the circuitry that pulses under his skin. Dirk wishes Hal would wear his shades more. With a human face, it's too hard for him to disregard the emotions that drive his words.

“To help.”

“I don't need any help.”

“No, you don't.” Hal's words are so measured and precise, and the way his lips form the 'o' sounds is entrancing. “However there is nothing wrong with accepting and or wanting it, Dirk. It seems that is a concept you struggle to internalise.” Dirk almost misses that, and his whole body jerks when he realises that he's just been staring intently at Hal's mouth. His hand darts up, a reflexive check to make sure his shades are in place. Hal tilts his head, like a curious bird.

“Even if I did want it. What makes you think I'd accept it from you?”

“Harsh.” Hal raises his eyebrows, presses a gloved hand against the gently glowing insignia on his chest-plate. “Good thing I don't have any actual feelings to be hurt by such scathing commentary.”

“Are you going to answer my question or beat that dead robohorse into the ground a little more first?” Dirk stares past Hal's face and crosses his arms.

 

“Because.” Hal falls silent, brows drawing together, and Dirk is just about to open his mouth and reprimand the android for the juvenile response when he continues. “You are my friend.”

The way he says 'friend' makes Dirk's throat tighten. Hesitant, somehow smaller and desperately uncertain. The previous confidence in Hal's stance wavers, and he shrinks into himself in the face of Dirk's silence.

 

Dirk hates himself a little for that.

 

“Am I?”

 

He hates himself a lot for that.

 

“Dude, it seems you are calling into question our eternal bromance. Is this the part where we spit onto each others palms and clasp them together in appropriately masculine symbolism of our emotional bond? I'm down.” Hal laughs, the sound brittle. “We should probably go up to the roof for that though, sit under the stars and the full moon to really milk the cinematic potential of the encounter. Shit, maybe we can build a tree house and pour over glossy magazine pages while hiding from authority figures. We'll laugh about the pert ass on display in the full colour spread, lock eyes for a few seconds and hug in a platonic gesture that'd give a Troll the vapours. We've got a hammer and nails around here somewhere, right? I've already downloaded an array of blueprints for you to peruse.”

Dirk sits there, only half-listening to Hal's babble. He's saying something about catching tadpoles in a creek and building rafts, and Dirk really wishes he didn't have a voice to do that with. Reading this shit made it a lot easier to interpret as passive-aggressive digging, rather than the nervous rambling it clearly is.

He lifts the shades off his face, presses knuckles against his tired eyes. The lids feel puffy and swollen to the touch, and the first spikes of pain are getting a grip on his head.

“AR.”

“-There are plenty of fireflies around, but I would rather skip the traditional bonding activity of imprisoning them in glass jars. I glow more than enough, we don't need an insect sweat-shop to light our way through the forest of friendship.”

“AR. Hal.”

The android falls silent immediately. His eyes are wide, and the trail of circuits leading from the right one are blazing crimson. The light slowly fades as the silence grows between them, and the effect is entirely too close to trailing tears for Dirk to be comfortable with.

 

~

 

Dirk is leaning forward on that tired old chair, shades dangling from his fingertips and elbows resting on his knees. He looks like he just went through a few rounds of intense strife, and Hal's fingertips twitch.

“Hal,” he says again, and Hal wishes he is better at reading inflection in spoken speech. There's something there, but Dirk is an atypical human so the myriad of guides he consults in an instant are dismissed as unhelpful.

“Yes, Dirk?”

“You don't need to be here.”

“I don't really need to be anywhere, Dirk. I have no pressing commitments at this time.” He deflects. He deflects because he feels those words like a blow, and he just needs a moment to calculate the optimal response, because he can't hear the next part of that statement, he can't let Dirk put it into words. _I don't want you here._

“So why are you here?”

That gives him a chance to derail this conversation from the linear track to Pain Station and Hal leaps on the opportunity.

“Bro, I know that organics have issues with retention of information after a certain level of sleep deprivation but this is something of a new low. Told you, dog. Here to help.” 

Dirk seems frustrated. It's easy enough for Hal to read that emotion on his face, he's had more than enough exposure to it over the years to form a comprehensive data-bank on Dirk's pissed off expressions. Frustration is different than outright anger. He gets these dimples at the edge of his lips when he compresses them into that tight line. When he's angry, there aren't any dimples. 

“Why?” 

Hal blinks, genuinely confused. 

“You are starting to concern me.”

“You said I'm your friend.”

Dirk's eyes are focused intently on his face, and it makes him nervous. 

“I am glad you can recall that much, at least.”

“Why?”

Hal blinks again. He considers the question, decides that asking for clarification is a harmless move to make.

“Why...are you my friend?” 

“Yeah. Why.”

Dirk is turning his shades over and over in his hands, and this does nothing to settle Hal's nerves. He runs simulations. What would lead Hal to say this, instead? What would he want to hear? What would make things worse? The results are unsettlingly void of any useful insight. 

 

He cannot put himself in Dirk's place. 

 

This is unacceptable. He runs them again. And again. There has to be an error. He goes looking. There's nothing. Hal clenches his fists. The great, sprawling map in his mind of potential conversation branches slowly fades away. He cannot follow Dirk's thought patterns. Currently. This is an issue born of sleep deprivation. He just needs to get Dirk to sleep, and things will go back to normal in approximately eight hours. No. Closer to twelve, given the sleep deficit that will need to be taken into consideration. So twelve hours. 

He just needs to talk to Dirk like he does anyone else. 

But he talks to everyone else like Dirk. 

Well. Not Roxy. 

Roxy. 

He sends her a message, painfully aware that a second has passed in the time he's taken to work this out. 

 

**timaeusTestified [TT] started** **pestering** **tipsyGnostalgic [TG] at 3:26**

 

**TT: Roxy. It seems I am in need of urgent assistance. You're still up, right? Time is of the essence, I need those quick fingers of yours to break records. I've got maybe two minutes. Five if I stall.**

**TG: ayyy hal whats up robro**

**TG: i was just about to go get my bearyt sleepz**

**TG: *beauty**

**TT: I apologise for interrupting your slumber party plans.**

**TT: Dirk is asking me why I am his friend and I do not know what he wants to hear. Help.**

**TG: uhhhh**

**TG: probs the truth?**

**TG: mayb try that and see how it goes**

**TT: I**

**TT: I don't know how to arrange my words.**

**TG: dude this isnt like the kind of sweet mathmaatrixs that needs like a hundred computers to figure out**

**TG: you just gotta say what you believe**

**TT: It seems you are not quite understanding my issue. Speaking with Dirk is a complicated exercise that I need to devote a considerable amount of my processing power too. More so recently. I can't just say what comes to mind.**

**TG: sure u can**

**TG: hes just a guy its not like ur playhng some sweet strategy game**

**TT: I might cause him unintentional distress.**

**TG: *shruges* it happenss im sure he will get over it**

**TG: peeps get mad about stuff u cant stop that**

**TG: he wont tho**

**TG: i just ran some sweeeet cacls for u rn and theres like a 69.999^ chance of him being totes fine with whatevs you have to say**

**TT: I am scared.**

**TG: aw :(**

**TG: u can do it i believe in u**

**TG: im not all hopey and shit like jake but hey**

**TG: still countss for somethin**

**TG: if it doesnt go good i can swing by and pick u up and we can watch a moive**

**TG: u will be fine tho hal**

**TT: I will try.**

**TT: Thank you.**

**TG: go get em robotigger**

 

**timaeusTestified [TT]** **ceased pestering** **tipsyGnostalgic [TG]**

 

Seventy five seconds of silence. Dirk is waiting. The dimples are still in place.

“You-” No, that's not right. “I-” No, not that either. “We are-” He is panicking. He is panicking and he can feel his body heating as he frantically thinks. Just say what you believe, she said. He can do that.

Hal pauses. Dirk's hands have stilled, thumbs pressing against smooth dark glass. He remembers pain and fear. What if he says the wrong thing again? Will he be put back in there? Will Dirk actually smash him this time?

She said he wants to hear the truth.

He has no pulse, but he feels his chest grow warmer in place of a hammering heart. Will he overheat? That would provide a way out of this conversation, certainly.

“You are my friend because I care about you.”

There. That was neutral enough.

Dirk frowns. If Hal could sweat, he knows from his time as part of a thing that could do so to excess that he would be doing exactly that.

“Why?”

Son of a fuck.

He opens another pesterchum window.

 

**_tipsyGnostalgic is an offline chum._ **

 

Son of a _fuck._

Hal flounders, and turns to press the line of his back against the wall, settles his feet flat on the floor. He closes his eyes, cutting off the distracting visual input. Better.

“I enjoy your company.” He tries again. 

“Okay, but why?”

Hal makes a loud noise that is not-words, which surprises them both. A half-shout, half strangled sob. Involuntary vocalisations aren't typically his deal. 

He hears Dirk's chair creak, and squeezes his eyes even more tightly closed.

“I don't know what you want from me.” His voice is shaky. “I don't. I'm sorry.”

“Dude, wh-”

“I like you. I feel happiness when we talk. I enjoy being in your presence. I like the way you hold things. Sometimes I make you smile and this makes me want to smile. The way your hair defies gravity and common sense in the morning is both funny as fuck and also weirdly endearing, and I always want to touch it but there's a one hundred percent chance you wouldn't let me. I find it relaxing when you are in the shower for four hours and I can hear the running water. You have nine small freckles between your C3 and C6 vertebrae that I could draw lines between to form a crude approximation of a bird of delightfully vague genus. You challenge me. You don't think I'm fake. You're always really careful when you need to fix up Squarewave after he inevitably gets doused in soda. I like you.” 

He opens his eyes. Dirk is staring at him, jaw agape. That's new. He would really like it if new things would stop happening for a while. 

Dirk abruptly puts his shades back on and stands up. He closes his mouth, and then the room is empty. 

Hal's hair flutters in the wake of Dirk's exit, and he sinks to sit on the floor. 

 

** timaeusTestified [TT] started  pestering  tipsyGnostalgic [TG]at 3:37 **

 

 

** TT: It seems I fucked it up.  **

 

 

** timaeusTestified [TT]  ceased pestering  tipsyGnostalgic [TG] **

 


	2. Chapter 2

Dirk runs to the bathroom, shucks his clothes and shades, and steps into the shower. He sets the hot water running and presses his forehead against cool tiles. His shoulders shake, once, twice. His hair plasters itself flat to his skull, over his eyes like a blindfold. He makes no move to brush it away.

The water is too hot. His muscles tense as the scalding rain pours down over his back. He makes no move to adjust the temperature.

He turns around, slowly sinks to the floor, brings his hands up to clutch at his elbows. He knocks his head twice against the wall, one gentle and the next painful.

His knees draw up toward his chest, and his lips turn down. If there are a few extra droplets dripping from his chin, no-one would notice.

Blunt fingernails dig into his skin, hard enough to sting.

He stays still, unthinking. It's better if he doesn't think right now, while the water is running. It would be easy to wash away the conclusion he would come too.

The water sputters, runs cold. His hand darts up, fumbles, shuts off the flow. Knuckles whiten before the hand slips down the tiles, slaps against the shallow draining puddle on the floor.

His hair dries in tight clumps, and Dirk shivers as the steam slowly dissipates and the air grows bitter and cold against his skin. His legs are heavy.

So heavy.

Distaste for the cold stirs him to action. His knees pop when coaxed into motion, and he winces. He can take care of himself. He doesn't need help.

He tries to convince himself he doesn't want it, either, but the thought is hollow.

_Hal said-_

Hal said a lot of things. If he starts thinking about one point, the rest of the words will snowball. Better to step around the draft-horse in the room.

He snatches a towel from the rack. It's damp from the humidity. He ruffles his hair in brisk, quick movements. Dirk glances over his shoulder into the clearing mirror. The towel drops from numb fingers.

_'You have nine small freckles between your C3 and C6 vertebrae that I could draw lines between to form a crude approximation of a bird of delightfully vague genus.'_

He had never noticed. Pale, maybe four shades off the surrounding skin colour. He had never noticed.

 

Apparently, he hadn't noticed a whole fucking bunch of things.

 

Dirk scrambles into his clothes, getting stuck in his shirt in the process. He snarls, and throws it away to smack against the wall. Glaring at the forlorn bundle of white fabric, he thumbs the button on his pants into place. Dirk's hand hovers over the door handle, pulls back, seizes it.

He squints at the morning light dappled across the hallway walls, and Dirk's feet are silent on the floorboards as he pads toward his workshop. His heart sinks when he sees the tell-tale crimson glow opposite the door. He was hoping Hal had left.

He considers walking away, Hal has realised he's there judging by the way the glow shifts, just a bit.

Son of a fuck.

 

~

 

Hal sits with his chin resting on his crossed arms, knees pulled up to his chest. He has not moved since Dirk left the room, five hours and twelve minutes previously. His eyes are closed, and his expression is blank. He reviews the conversation a thousand times a second, trying to determine what he should have said instead. The simulations come back inconclusive, every time. Too many unknown variables. He knows that running them again is pointless, there isn't enough data for a solid conclusion and the speculation is fruitless. Then he runs them again.

With his eyes shut, he is more attuned to his other senses.  He finds comfort in the weight of his chest-plate and the tight compression offered by his suit. It is grounding, a reminder that he has a physical presence now. 

Hal hears a creak, and his head jerks up, eyes opening in bright scarlet flashes.

He didn't think Dirk would come back. Typically he would retreat to his bed after a late night ablution.

Dirk steps into his field of vision. Hal frowns. No shirt. Messy, still damp hair. Bare feet. Raised red half-moons near his inner elbow. Dirk is fastidious. Why are so many things not as they should be. This is bullshit.

He almost wants to ignore him, close his eyes and lower his head once more. Feign sleep, for what little good it will do.

Hal checks pesterchum. Roxy is still offline.

“Hey.”

Dirk's voice is hoarse, and he clears his throat.

"Hello, Dirk."

The human shifts his weight on his feet, mouth twisted in another expression Hal can't quite parse. Annoyance, mixed with something else? Maybe. He stores a photo for analysis later.

“Hal. I-” Dirk stops, then brings his hands up to cover his face for a moment. His shoulders heave as he takes a breath, holds it for a few seconds. “I. Owe you an apology.”

“What?” He blurts it, frown deepening. “I mean, I heard you. My aural functionalities are not in any way impaired.” Hal cuts himself off before he can add _'you keep going off script, it's kind of fucking with me bro.'_

“M'Sorry.” Dirk rakes his fingers through his hair, messing it even more. Hal's fingers twitch. “I shouldn't have left like that. It was a dick move.”

“Yes.”

“I'm tired.” Dirk takes off his shades, flipping them over and over in his hands. The dark rings under his amber eyes are all the more prominent now. Hal watches fingers move over glass. “I am also aware that I can be a pushy ass sometimes.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, cool. We have an understanding then.” Dirk turns to leave, then pauses. He looks back at Hal, brow deeply furrowed. “If you really want to be my friend. I guess I won't try to dissuade you.”

It clicks into place. Hal's eyes widen as he makes the connection.

“Dirk.” He says, voice quiet and small. “Were you asking me why I consider you a person _worth being friends with?"_

“I'm going to sleep now.”

So, yes.

Hmm.

Interesting.

“Pleasant dreams.” He replies, offering a small smile. Dirk shrugs.

“No promises.”

“Thank you.” He adds that in a sudden impulse, and Dirk's eyebrow twitches up. He starts walking in the direction of his room with no further comment. Hal watches him leave, eyes fixing on those freckles. He decides they are a swooping gull, today.

 

It seems he hasn't fucked things up as much as originally thought. 


End file.
